Never Tinker With the Tesseract
by AlphaEph19
Summary: "She's... misbehaving." Thor uses the Tesseract to go back in time on a mission to redeem Loki. But as we all know, the Tesseract can be temperamental, and by mistake the Avengers are all sent back into their pasts. However, things seem a little... different... than they remember. With the Avengers scattered across time, can they possibly protect the Earth when it needs them?
1. The Best Intentions

**A/N: **This is my tribute to The Avengers, the most fantastic movie I've seen in quite a long time. Instead of going back to the theater to watch it for the tenth time, I decided to try and write something that could explore the characters and their backgrounds a little more. I'll decide whether to continue this based on the response to the first chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Marvel's The Avengers, or any of the characters of Marvel Comics

**Chapter 1: The Best Intentions**

"For his crimes against an innocent race, I, Odin All-Father, sentence the traitor Loki to death. At sundown he shall die by my hand."

The All-Father's voice echoed in the Audience Chamber, striking Thor like a hammer blow straight to his heart. It was over, then – Odin's word was final, and Loki would pay the ultimate price for his part in bringing the Chitauri to Earth. Although it hurt to admit it, Thor knew that the punishment was just.

Even now, the mass murderer and former Prince of Asgard stood with his head held high, showing no shame or regret for his actions. The black metal muzzle that covered his mouth and inhibited his magic prevented him from saying anything, but the hatred that shone from Loki's eyes spoke eloquently enough. He made no move to resist as Odin's guards marched forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to march out of the chamber to the cell where he would await his execution.

Loki turned just before leaving the room, sweeping his eyes over the assembled crowd. His gaze lingered for a moment when he saw Thor, and some unfathomable emotion flared up for a second before disappearing. From her place at Thor's left side, Lady Sif reached out a hand and touched his shoulder gently. Thor sighed, turning slightly away. She was only trying to help, but Thor had no use for her pity. It couldn't give him his brother back.

Thor strode out of the Audience Chamber, eager to leave the place where his father had sentenced his brother to death. Thor knew this was just as hard for Odin, who had loved Loki every bit as much as his own son, but Thor still couldn't bear to look at his father. In only a few hours, Odin would wield the sword that separated Loki's head from his shoulders.

Thor's closest friends and brothers-in-arms, the Warriors Three as they called themselves, started to follow him. But Sif, who knew his moods a little better than the men, convinced them to leave him alone. She knew that for now, at least, Thor needed time alone.

He went straight to his quarters and asked his servant to bring a cask of mead and a mug. Thor meant to mourn his brother in true Asgardian fashion, with mead and memories. This was normally a tradition that followed funerals. Family and friends of the deceased would gather together and feast, sharing stories of the past, reliving the brightest moments in the life of the loved one with whom they would never again drink, laugh, or fight.

Loki had changed after falling from the Bifrost and disappearing into the murky depths of the universe. By the time Thor saw him again on Earth, he wasn't even sure that Loki had been fully sane – of course, that didn't justify what Loki had done. There was no end to the trail of death and suffering that lay at his feet. But Loki deserved to be remembered as more than the monster he'd become.

As Thor drained mug after mug of the honey-sweetened mead, he turned over each and every memory of his life with Loki in his mind. Each one hurt more than the last, bringing bittersweet regret and nostalgia for a time when everything had been simpler. When they had fought each other with all their might, yet could not stop from laughing as they did. When a word of praise from Odin was more precious than gold, and tomorrow was bright with untapped promise.

_Was not that real? _Thor asked his brother silently, though Loki was far away and could not hear. _Do you remember none of that?_

But Thor had already asked Loki that question, and he knew Loki's answer: "_I remember a shadow_."

Even back then, when they were only children, Thor had overshadowed his brother, too eager in his quest to become king to understand the injuries he was inflicting on Loki. How much of Loki's descent into madness had been due to Thor's careless cruelty? If Thor had known then what he knew now, that a crown is a trinket and a king seeking glory is a fool… maybe Loki would never have fallen into darkness.

Thor spoke to the empty room, his mind clear and his tongue unimpaired even though he had already consumed over half of the cask of mead. "If I could do everything over, I swear to you, brother… you would not suffer from my shadow."

Thor would never know if it was the mead that supplied his next thought, or if it arose of its own accord. Regardless, however, once the thought appeared it refused to go away, taking over his mind and making it echo with a single phrase: _Why not?_

Why _couldn't_ he do it all again? With determination and persistence, anything was possible. No barrier was unbreakable, not even Time. You just needed the right tool, and Thor knew exactly where to find it. The Tesseract contained unlimited potential, and Thor already knew how to harness its power to jump between worlds. With a little bit of help, perhaps Thor could get the Tesseract to send him from the future into the past.

Once that thought had taken root in his mind, there was no going back. If there was any hope that Thor could correct his past mistakes, if there was the slightest chance that he could redeem Loki, he would pursue that hope across all the worlds that had ever been or would be.

With luck, however, Thor would only need to go to one other world before setting out on his self-appointed journey. That world was Earth, where a brilliant scientist named Erik Selvig would help Thor by turning the Tesseract into a time machine. Thor trusted that he could convince Selvig to help him, and there was no one who had as much experience working with the Tesseract.

Thor wasted no time in setting his plan in motion, leaving for the Treasure Room without a second thought. He wanted to leave for Earth before Loki's execution – somehow, Thor believed that if he didn't see his brother die, it wouldn't actually happen.

His father's guards stopped him at the entrance to the Treasure Room, but at his command they stepped aside and let him enter. Thor closed the door behind him, and went to the table against the far wall where the Tesseract rested in its container.

Thor took hold of the two handles on either end of the Tesseract's container, and twisted them in opposite directions. He focused on his memory of Erik Selvig, using it to help the Tesseract determine where he should transport to on Earth. Thor realized that Odin would be greatly displeased when he found out that Thor had taken the Tesseract without his express permission, but Thor wasn't about to stop now. Besides, it was always easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Traveling by Tesseract was instantaneous and infallible. No sooner had Thor closed his eyes and activated the translocation than he opened his eyes and found himself in a laboratory, less than three feet from an extremely astonished Erik Selvig.

The scientist blinked twice. "Thor? Did you, ah… come to see Jane? She's still working on that job S.H.I.E.L.D found her when preparing for the invasion. It might have started as a way of keeping her safe, but she's never been one to leave a job half finished."

Thor smiled, glad to see the doctor. He was looking well after his ordeal with Loki, though perhaps a little gray around the edges. Overcoming the aftereffects of mind control was no mean feat, and Erik was no longer a young man.

"Not today, my friend," Thor said with a laugh, crushing the scientist to his chest in a bear hug. Erik let out a slightly squashed-sounding grunt. "No… today I am here to see you. I'll have time to see Jane, once I do what I've come here to do."

Erik was starting to look a little bit worried. "And what might that be?"

Thor hoisted the Tesseract with one hand, holding it out for Erik's inspection. "I want to make up for past mistakes. Tell me, Erik, do you think the Tesseract could become a doorway through Time as well as Space?"

Erik recoiled as if the Tesseract was a snake. "Thor, have you gone mad? You want to take the device that almost brought about Earth's destruction, and use it to meddle with the past? Do you have any idea of the harm that you might do?"

"It's just one trip," Thor said, "and the only changes I plan to make are good ones."

"But that's just the _point_," the scientist objected. "No matter what your intentions, the changes that may come about from such meddling will be far beyond what you anticipate. What could possibly be worth such a terrible risk?"

So Thor told him. He explained about Loki and his guilt, and how he would trade everything for the chance to redeem his lost brother. "If you help me, I promise not to betray your trust in me," Thor told him solemnly. "If I can't change Loki by the time we're both adults again, then I'll fight him just like the first time. But I believe he can change, and if he does it will not only benefit me, but the whole world as well. He can be a force for good, I'm sure of it."

Erik took much more convincing, but he agreed in the end, as Thor had known he would. Not only did he owe Thor for saving his life (and the lives of almost every living soul in New York City), he would have given his left arm to be able to work with the Tesseract once again. It was like a playground for the physicist, giving him knowledge of worlds unknown and truths only ever suspected.

"I trust you, Thor," Erik said at last, "and who am I to deny you the chance to redeem your brother? But you must promise me: if you don't think you can change him, you must not hesitate in bringing him to justice once again. Otherwise you could doom us all."

"I swear," Thor declared, bringing his fist to heart.

"All right," Erik said, turning to the Tesseract with a speculative light in his eyes. "Let's get to work."

oOoOo

Commander Fury stood in front of his two most trusted agents, Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. They could tell immediately that this was not a normal debriefing. The Commander started pacing back and forth, the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly and the tension in his voice unmistakable.

"Two days ago, our instruments started picking up low levels of gamma radiation. It appears the Tesseract is back in town."

Natasha gave Clint a worried look. "Didn't Thor take it back to Asgard with him?"

"I guess he must have gotten lonely," Commander Fury said sarcastically. "Look at this."

He gestured at the nearest screen, which looked to be showing the inside of some kind of restaurant. "This is the security camera from a diner in New Mexico. It happens to be less than ten minutes from the lab where Erik Selvig is currently working. See that booth in the back? Recognize anyone?"

Of course, the question was rhetorical. The muscle-bound blond tearing into a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon could only have been Thor.

"At least it's not a shawarma joint," Agent Barton commented drily. "I don't think my digestive system has recovered from the last one."

"I need your commentary about as much as I need another eyepatch," the Commander snapped. "For whatever reason, Thor is back on Earth and he's brought the Tesseract. From his location, we have to assume that he's recruited Selvig. I don't know what the hell he's planning, but you guys are going to find out."

Natasha peered at the screen, watching Thor drain the last of a cup of coffee. What was he thinking? Why hadn't he contacted S.H.I.E.L.D.?

"If the Tesseract is involved," Natasha said, trying to focus on the task at hand, "we'll need to bring in Banner."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Fury said. "I'm bringing in the whole crew on this one. Captain Rogers is on his way here, and I sent Stark to retrieve Banner. Whatever Thor and Selvig are playing at, you're not going to head into it unprepared."

"Yes, sir." Natasha waited for Clint to acknowledge the Commander as well, but he was still watching Thor on the video screen. Agent Barton chuckled as Thor raised his mug high in the air, and then barely stopped himself from smashing it to the floor, a sheepish expression stretching across the demi-god's face. Apparently he was still adjusting to human customs regarding refills.

"Maybe it's because I've only got one eye," the Commander said to Barton in a tone as cold as ice and hard as iron, "but I fail to see anything funny about this situation."

Natasha kicked Clint in the ankle, trying to get him to be serious.

"I know Thor's one of the good guys," Commander Fury went on, "but I have no patience when it comes to the Tesseract. Treat this as a reconnaissance mission in potentially hostile territory. Understood?"

Clint Barton was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He came to attention and saluted the Commander crisply. "Understood, sir."

oOoOo

Agent Barton landed their jet in the desert, about twenty minutes' walk from the town where Erik Selvig's lab was located. Captain Steve Rogers was the first to step out into the hot New Mexico sun.

"Is Stark here yet?" he called over his shoulder to the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Barton followed after Captain Rogers and scanned the surrounding sky, shielding his eyes from the glare with one hand. "He's coming," Barton said after a second. "Right about… there." He pointed at a spot almost due east, and before long the tell-tale reddish-gold glint of Stark's Ironman suit came into view, exactly where Barton was pointing. Natasha joined the two men in the sand, and together the three Avengers waited for Stark to close the distance between them.

"Wait," Natasha said after a second, "what's that trailing behind him?"

Captain Rogers squinted against the sun, straining to see what Natasha saw. There was indeed something behind the Ironman suit, though from this distance it looked like nothing more than a square, brownish blob. "It must be some kind of transport," Steve said, thinking it through. "Stark is bringing Dr. Banner, right? Maybe he's carrying him in a one-man pod of some kind?"

Agent Barton let out a strangled-sounding cough. "I don't know if you'd call it a transport," he said. "Unless my eyes are deceiving me, which in all modesty is highly unlikely, the object Stark is towing is an outhouse."

"Come again?" Steve said, sure that he'd heard wrong.

"An outhouse," Clint replied, keeping a straight face with considerable difficulty. "A small wooden construct meant for the elimination of bodily wastes-"

"I _know_ what an outhouse is!" Steve snapped. "That was disbelief, not a lack of comprehension. Are you telling me that Stark carried Banner all the way from India in an _outhouse_?"

Clint shrugged. "Looks like it."

Natasha sighed heavily, not entirely surprised. "That's Stark for you."

The billionaire in question finished his descent, decelerating as he neared the ground. He hovered about twenty feet off the ground, carefully lowering the outhouse he was towing to the ground. The outhouse was suspended from his suit by metal cables that extended from his legs and wrapped multiple times around the top of the wooden structure. When the outhouse settled firmly into the sand, the cables retracted into the Ironman suit and Tony Stark landed next to it with a dramatic flourish. His metal mask retracted with a snap, revealing his face – he looked very satisfied with himself.

"Hey guys," Tony called out. "Anyone need to use the restroom before we hit the road?"

"STARK!" came an angry shout from inside the outhouse. The door banged open, revealing an extremely pissed-off Bruce. "I was stuck in there for eight god-damn _hours!_"

"Are you all right, Bruce?" Stark asked with mock concern. "You're looking a little green… and not in a Hulk-ish way, either."

"Just you wait, Stark," Bruce said, grimacing. "I _will_ pay you back for this. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but I promise you: you'll regret this!"

Stark clapped his hands together purposefully. "Looks like I managed to make myself another archenemy. That's too bad – I had such high hopes for our friendship." He turned to Steve, his mouth quirking upwards in the signature Tony Stark grin. "Hey, Cap. Long time no see. I hear Thunder Boy's being naughty. What's the story?"

"That's what we're here to find out." Steve took one last look at the outhouse, and imagined being stuck in there for eight hours while being towed by an egomaniacal asshole in a metal suit. Oh god, what if they had run into turbulence? He shivered. There were some things it was best not to think about.

Natasha briefed Tony and Bruce as they walked through the desert, eventually coming within view of the town where Dr. Selvig had located his new laboratory. They went directly there, entering a nondescript brick building that gave no sign of its true nature. There was a secretary inside, who directed them to the lower levels when they told her they were looking for Dr. Selvig.

"I think he's in the middle of some kind of experiment," she warned. "He might not be able to meet with you until after."

After hearing that, they moved considerably quicker. Tony used his suit to scan for life-forms, and told them that there were only two other people in the entire compound, making their choice of direction very simple.

They finally reached a room surrounded by glass walls, which allowed them to see inside. They saw Dr. Selvig bustling around a control panel, flipping switches and muttering to himself. And in the center of the room was Thor, sitting in a chair with his hammer in hand. Next to him was a sight that made the rest of the Avengers extremely nervous.

It was the Tesseract, positioned in the center of some kind of metal contraption at the heart of a busy tangle of wires. "What the hell?" Steve breathed.

"They're focusing the energy somehow," Stark said, shocked. "But I don't know how or why."

Just then, the Tesseract began to glow, and its light seemed to bring the machine around it to life. It threw off sparks, and the wires running from the Tesseract into the ceiling started to quiver violently.

With Captain Rogers in the lead, the Avengers burst through the glass door and into the room. Thor looked up, alerted by the sound of their entrance. "Erik!" he cried, his face suffusing with alarm. "Do it now!"

"Stop right there, Doc," Steve ordered, holding his hands out. "Don't do a thing until we know what's going on! Thor, what is this?"

"I haven't the time to explain this to you!" Thor growled. "You won't stop me!" He raised his hammer Mjolnir, taking aim at the red switch next to Dr. Selvig.

A horrified expression came over the physicist's face. "No!" he cried out, but it was too late. Thor's hammer went flying, and with perfect precision it stopped just as it collided with the red switch, flicking it downwards. The glow from the Tesseract immediately doubled, and a humming sound filled the air.

There was a flash of light so bright that everyone had to close their eyes, and when they opened them Thor had disappeared. Steve let out a cry of dismay.

Tony rounded on Erik Selvig. "What did you do?" he cried out.

The physicist shrank before their accusing eyes. "Thor asked me for help," he said. "I… I couldn't say no. He's gone somewhere you can't follow."

"That's it," Steve said, disgusted. "You're coming with us. You can explain everything to Commander Fury. Let's pack up the Tesseract and get the hell out of here."

But no sooner did he take a step toward the Tesseract then the energy source gave another pulse of light. The glow from the machine warped and flickered, and the humming sound began again.

"Doctor," Bruce began hesitantly, "is it supposed to be doing this?"

"Um…" Selvig scanned the control panel, and then turned back to Bruce with a helpless shrug. "In a word… no. The Tesseract may be… misbehaving."

Agent Barton swore loudly. "I've heard you say that before, Doctor. I swear to God, if Loki comes out of that thing again I'm going to kill _you_ first."

Selvig's response was lost as the Tesseract seemed to explode in another burst of light and sound. The radius of the burst was small, no more than a few yards. But the Avengers, who had been closer to Thor than Selvig, were all caught in the blast. There was a rushing sound, and then Dr. Selvig was alone in the laboratory.

The Tesseract gave a little _huff_, almost like a self-satisfied sigh, before lapsing into silence. The glowing decreased, until the cube was lit by nothing more than its usual inner radiance.

Dr. Selvig stared at the spot on the floor where, only seconds ago, Earth's mightiest heroes had been gathered. He blinked twice. "That… wasn't supposed to happen…"

**A/N: **If you like it so far and want to read more, please review! The next few chapters will reveal where the Avengers end up – they'll be short chapters, I think, each one focused on no more than one or two of the characters at a time.


	2. To Dance Again

**A/N: **The response to the first chapter was awesome, and I want to thank all of you who reviewed or alerted this story! I'll do my best to keep it going, starting with Thor and Captain America. The rest of the Avengers will show up next time, and the Tesseract has a few surprises in store for them.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Avengers

**Chapter 2: To Dance Again**

There was nothing in the flash of blue light that seemed different from the other times Thor had traveled by Tesseract. But when he opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with an Odin much younger than the one Thor remembered. This was the All-Father as spry as he hadn't been since… since Thor and Loki were children.

"…and it was Asgard, and its warriors, that brought peace to the universe. But someday, one of you will be called upon to defend that peace." Odin's voice rang out and echoed off the walls of the chamber, carrying that lecturing tone that had used to annoy Thor to no end. Now it filled him with a sense of peace.

Thor looked to his right, and found himself staring at his brother, Loki. But Loki was tiny, barely coming up to Odin's waist. His eyes were kind, with no hint of the madness that glimmered from them in later years. He didn't look crazed, or betrayed, or murderous. He only looked, well… cute.

Then Thor realized with dismay that the same might be said of him. The mighty Thor, slayer of monsters and terror of Asgard, stuck in the body of a boy! Oh, the injustice! But it was what he'd wanted, so he supposed that he'd better get used to it.

"Do the Frost Giants still live?" Loki asked eagerly. This conversation was sounding more and more familiar to Thor… ah, yes! This was the lecture during which Odin told them one of them would one day be king. If Thor wasn't mistaken, his younger self had said something stupid about how when he was king, he would hunt and kill every last Frost Giant, just like Odin had. Honestly, why had Odin ever trusted him with Mjolnir in the first place? What a stupid brat he'd been.

"Yes," Odin replied to Loki. "The Frost Giants dwell in their hall at Jotunheim, peaceful so long as we hold the source of their power." He gestured to the glowing cube on the pedestal in front of them, watched over by the Guardian from its iron cage. Thor couldn't repress a shiver, remembering the devastation that the Guardian had wreaked on Earth when Loki sent it to kill him. _Not this time_, he promised himself.

"One day," Odin went on, "it will be your job to watch over this cube, as well as the rest of this kingdom. Only one of you will ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to rule."

When he heard those words, Thor experienced a curious feeling. He had spent most of his youth at odds with his father, believing that glory and bravery were the only things a king needed. He had learned his lesson, and come to love and respect his father. But now, listening to what Odin was telling his young sons, Thor felt that Odin was making a mistake. He knew it with a deep conviction, even if he didn't know how he knew.

How could Odin not see that pitting the two of them against each other was likely to split them apart? Odin told them that only one could take the throne, and then expected them to love each other as brothers? It would be only too easy for sibling rivalry to turn into bitterness, and then hatred – which indeed, was exactly what had happened. If Thor was going to change the way Loki turned out, if he was going to make sure that nothing could threaten the bond between brothers, he was going to have to oppose some of the decisions that his father had made.

First was this practice of pitting them against each other. Thor was going to make sure that everyone knew he had no interest in the throne.

There was another thing that Thor needed to change, and that was Odin's decision not to tell Loki about his true parentage. Thor felt sure that in the old timeline, the realization that Odin was not his father had driven Loki over the edge. The desire to please Odin, to make his father proud, had been Loki's primary motivation from the start. Even when Loki had learned that he was Laufey's son, he had decided to kill Laufey rather than Odin – even when Loki had nothing but hatred for Thor, he had still wanted to prove to Odin that he loved him. Odin had nothing but love for Loki, but that didn't change the fact that Odin was partially responsible for the choice that Loki had made.

In a very real way, Odin had betrayed Loki. Thor knew that to be true, just as he knew that _he_ had betrayed Loki by never valuing his brother as he deserved. How could Odin withhold Loki's heritage, all the while telling tales of battles against the Frost Giants, and _not_ expect Loki to be angry when he found out?

Thor knew that he was going to need to convince Odin to tell Loki of his true parentage. It was _how_ he could accomplish this that puzzled Thor – was there a way for Odin to reveal Loki's heritage without making Loki feel excluded or unloved?

Thor felt far out of his league. All of this worrying about emotions was completely foreign to him. He was much more comfortable with a problem that he could solve in a straightforward fashion – unfortunately, hitting Loki with his hammer was not the solution to this particular problem. In order to get his brother back, to make things go the way they _should_ have gone, Thor was going to have to go through a transformation far, far stranger than becoming a child again.

Thor was going to have to become… sensitive.

Thor gagged uncontrollably, then realized that Odin and Loki were staring at him as though he'd grown another head.

"Are you all right, son?" Odin asked. "You're acting very… strangely, today. Indeed, I don't believe I've ever seen you this quiet."

Thor shook his head, and then grinned at his father and Loki. "Nothing's wrong, Father. I'm merely feeling a bit under the weather, but fear not - a hot meal and a tankard of mead will fix whatever ails me."

Odin looked at him askance. "Many consider me to be a lenient parent, my son, but I am not so lost to discipline as to allow a child to consume alcohol."

Thor was confused for a second, and then comprehension dawned in a flash of horror. He held out his tiny, adolescent hands and regarded them with growing despair.

_A child… no alcohol… please, this can't be happening. This is so much worse than I thought!_

Thor's anguished cry echoed off the high walls of the chamber.

oOoOo

One second Steve Rogers was in a laboratory with the rest of the Avengers, watching the Tesseract go haywire. The next thing he knew he was encased in a block of ice, helpless and unable to move an inch. There came a strange sound like an unearthly laugh, filled with an amusement that was playful and yet not unkind. Then Steve felt a burst of energy emanating from his body. His eyes were suffused with the deep blue color of the Tesseract, and the block of ice in which he was encased broke in two with a tremendous _crack_.

Water started pouring in rapidly, pressing him back against the wall of ice behind him. Steve closed his mouth, which had been open in astonishment, and kicked as hard as could off of the ice. Once he was completely submerged in water he was able to begin swimming, rapidly propelling himself away from his icy prison.

There was no time for thought, only action – so Steve acted. He shot through the water with controlled, powerful strokes, heading ever upwards where the water seemed to be getting lighter. His muscles strained and his lungs ached with the need to breathe, but he kept going until, at last, he exploded out of the water and into the sunlight.

He gasped for breath, his lungs heaving like a bellows, and his arms and legs desperately treading water to keep him afloat. Only when he had some measure of control did Steve finally look around and take in his surroundings. Not that there was much to take in. On all sides, as far as he could see, there was only water. He was stranded in the ocean, which ocean he had no idea. Considering that it was the Tesseract that had sent him here, Steve knew that he could very well be in an ocean on another world.

But Steve was a soldier and a leader with responsibilities to his team. He couldn't afford to panic, not when his men (and women, Steve reminded himself sternly, trying to kick the 1940s habit of referring to his troops as his "men") might also be stranded out here. He had to formulate a plan. But before he could do that, he needed to find dry land.

Steve struck out heading due East (going by the Sun, which reassured Steve because it looked an awful lot like the Sun he remembered on Earth), using the modified sidestroke that was best for swimming long distances in rough water. There wasn't much hope of surviving this, if he was to be completely honest with himself. He could get eaten by sharks or die of exhaustion long before encountering a boat or finding land. But then, Steve had more chance of getting out of his predicament alive than anyone else in the world. His muscles were stronger, his endurance was super-human, and his determination was second to none. Steve was going to survive this, and when he did… Thor was going to have to deal with a very pissed-off Captain America.

Either Steve was extremely lucky, or there was some higher power looking out for him. After three hours of continuous swimming, he saw a grey dot in the distance that turned out to be a fishing boat. Steve poured on an extra burst of speed, and yelled like crazy. His antics got the attention of the fishermen, and soon he was wrapped in about a dozen blankets with a steaming mug of soup in his hand.

The fluent Russian that the fishermen were speaking convinced Steve that he was on Earth, which came as a great relief. It was less comforting to know that he had no hope of communicating with his rescuers. But there was more than one way of gathering information.

"Newspaper?" Steve asked, gesturing to the off-duty crewmen who were peering at him curiously. He mimed reading a newspaper, and then pointed at his wrist in the universal signal for checking a watch. He hoped that this would communicate his desire, which was to know what day it was. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, even though the time between disappearing from the lab and reappearing in the ice had seemed like nothing at all. Steve didn't know what he would do if it turned out that another seventy years had passed.

His attempts at non-verbal communication, though clumsy, were sufficient for his purposes. A ragged-looking man with greasy hair and missing teeth brought him a rolled-up newspaper that was spotted with some kind of grease. Steve scanned the front page, thanking God that he could at least read the numbers. He found the date in the upper right-hand corner, and after reading it he froze.

It wasn't, as he'd feared, seventy years after 2012 – it was seventy years _before_. Steve's eyes kept going back to the date, but the _1942_ that met his gaze never changed. He was back in his original time, before he'd flown the Doomsday plane into the ocean, saying goodbye to Peggy and accepting his death.

Wait… the _ocean_? Steve was starting to see patterns, patterns he was afraid to look at too closely for fear they would turn out to be mere wishful thinking. But the clues were there. Steve had flown Johann Schmidt's plane into the ocean, and now he found himself in the ocean once again. Commander Fury said they found him in the ice, and just a few hours ago Steve had broken free of a block of ice. It was 1942, the same year he had disappeared the first time.

Steve checked the day – it had been the 5th of September on that fateful day when he'd saved New York at the cost of his own life. Could it be… the newspaper said it was the 9th, but the month was unclear since it was written in Russian.

Barely able to contain the longing that was rising in his heart, Steve gestured for the nearest crewman to come over to him. He pointed at the month and began counting off on his fingers. At first the fisherman was confused, but soon he understood that Steve wanted to know which month it was. Steve counted off once again, and the man stopped him at nine. It really was… it was September!

It seemed to Steve as if his heart stopped. He was back! Only four days had passed since he'd left behind the people he loved. He'd been gone for decades, fighting armies from space and creatures with god-like powers, but now he was back as if nothing had ever happened.

Steve had never gotten over his memories of the past. They visited him nightly, which was the reason he slept so poorly. His soldiers, Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark… and Peggy. They haunted him in his dreams, but now he was back and he could find them again!

All thoughts of formulating a plan disappeared from Steve's head. The Avengers became no more than a stray thought, shoved to the side by a wave of exultation.

"Turn this boat around," he ordered, forgetting for the moment that his rescuers spoke no English. "Do any of you have a map? I've only got three days to get to the Stork Club in New York… I promised a girl we'd go dancing."

oOoOo

Agent Peggy Carter had never given much thought to love. She'd grown up in a military family, and had seen a lot of the world while she was still very young. As a military woman in a society that was still very much dominated by men, she had experienced more than her fair share of discrimination, disregard, and outright cruelty from men.

But mere months before, Peggy had met a man who defied everything she'd come to expect from the men around her. He was kind, brave, loyal, and true. He was a man who would throw himself on top of a grenade without a second thought, yet stammered and blushed when a woman talked to him. Peggy had fallen for Steve Rogers long before he became Captain America, and had seen in him the same greatness that had led Dr. Erskine to select him to receive the serum that had turned him into a super-soldier.

For a few blissful weeks, Peggy had allowed herself to believe that maybe someday, when the war was over, she could learn what love was all about. Steve was the right partner, the _only _partner that Peggy ever wanted. But all of that was in the past now.

"…_I'm going to need a rain check on that dance…"_

Steve's voice in her mind was as clear now as it had been the day he died, when he was speaking over the intercom with Peggy as he directed the Hydra plane down into the water.

"_A week next Saturday, the Stork Club, eight o'clock. Don't be late."_

It was now Saturday, and Peggy was sitting on a stool at the Stork Club. She knew that Steve wasn't coming, of course. He was somewhere far below the wave, miles away from a friendly shore. Only that afternoon Colonel Phillips had held a funeral for Captain Rogers. Steve's strike team, the soldiers he had rescued from a Hydra prison and who had fought with him during the rest of their war against Hydra, had carried the empty casket. Peggy had stood next to the Colonel, and everyone there had honored the hero who had saved them all.

Peggy hadn't planned on going to the Stork Club. She knew it would only cause her pain, torturing her with thoughts of what would never be. But as eight o'clock drew closer, Peggy had found her thoughts turning again and again to the Stork Club. Finally she decided – no matter what, she would keep her promise with Steve. Even if he couldn't be there in person, he would be with her in spirit. Even if it was only in her mind, Steve would dance with her.

When she finally reached the Stork Club, however, Peggy was almost overcome by loneliness. It wasn't even as if she was alone – Howard Stark was dancing with a pretty blond, and Steve's strike team was at the bar, draining mug after mug of beer. The Stork Club was filled with people that Peggy knew, but none of them was the one she wanted to see.

Peggy stood up, took a step, and stumbled, momentarily overcome by a wave of grief. Howard Stark saw and caught her just before she fell, having abandoned his partner to come to her aid. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking down at her in concern.

Peggy looked away, ashamed to show such weakness. Stark pulled her into a hug, and whispered, "I miss him, too. Don't give up hope – my submarines are still searching. We may yet find him."

Peggy nodded, grateful for his support while she got herself under control. She knew that Stark's hug was meant only in friendship – he had flirted with her when he first met her, but he knew that Peggy was only interested in Steve, and respected her for it. He had cried just as hard as Peggy at Steve's funeral. After a second, Peggy felt steady enough to stand on her own. She started to step away from Stark's embrace.

"Well," said a surprised voice from behind her. Peggy froze – that voice was as familiar to her as her own. She turned around slowly and saw the impossibly handsome face of Captain Steve Rogers, who had just watched the two of them embrace. He raised one eyebrow sardonically. "I see I'm interrupting something. I suppose the night's special is fondue?"


	3. Making a Switch

**A/N: **I don't really have an over-arching plot yet – so far I'm just having some fun.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Marvel's The Avengers

**Chapter 3: Making a Switch**

An eerie voice spoke inside of Tony Stark's mind. It sounded ancient, inhuman, and highly amused.

"_Someone once asked you what you'd be without your suit of armor. I remember laughing at your response. '_Genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist,' _indeed. I wonder what you'll be now that you're none of those… well, except for genius, I suppose. Oh, I haven't had this much fun in ages!"_

The voice disappeared, and Tony Stark opened his eyes. Wherever he was, it wasn't anything like the tidy, sterilized lab in which he had been a moment before. Tony was in some kind of cave, rock walls enclosing him on all sides and a low ceiling with stalactites jutting down at him from above. There seemed to be electricity, however, and the cavern was filled with metal parts and work-benches littered with soldering-irons and welding equipment. Something about the cave and the make-shift workshop was giving Tony extreme _déjà vu. _Though he had no clue as to why, this cave felt as familiar as the back of his hand.

"_Ahem_," a weak cough made Tony swirl around, wishing he had his Ironman suit on to react to the threat. He realized two things at the same time: first, he had been wearing his Ironman suit just a second ago, when he had been in the lab; and second, the man who had startled him was someone he knew. Correction – someone he had _known_.

Because as far as Tony Stark knew, Dr. Yinsen was most certainly dead. He'd died several years ago, sacrificing himself to buy enough time for Tony to activate the prototype Ironman suit. It was all thanks to Dr. Yinsen that Tony had managed to escape from the terrorists who'd captured him, and it was thanks to Dr. Yinsen that Tony had sworn never to make or sell weapons ever again. Wait…

Tony looked around the dark interior of the cave once again. He was right… he _had _seen this place before. This was the workroom in which he'd crafted the first version of the Ironman suit! Tony looked at Dr. Yinsen in astonishment. The Tesseract had sent him back!

Dr. Yinsen was looking at Tony as if he was a ghost, which was exactly how Tony felt himself. The doctor approached Tony warily. "Who… who are you?"

Wait… what? "Tony Stark, obviously," he replied. "Can't you tell from my good looks, charm, and signature facial hair?"

Dr. Yinsen scratched his head, puzzled. "Well, that's just it. Tony Stark was just here. He was about to activate that suit! But you, sir… you are not Tony Stark." He pointed to the metal man waiting on a stand against the rocky wall.

Tony had to wince when he saw it. Admittedly he'd been a bit rushed when he'd made it, but seeing such shoddy workmanship was simply embarrassing. How he wanted the Mark 7 back, which homed in on his tracking bracelets. That suit had been sleek and sexy… this one was a rusted hunk of junk. Definitely _not_ his finest work.

But Dr. Yinsen's words broke through Tony's self-critical appraisal. "What do you mean I'm not Tony Stark?" he demanded. "Of course I am! Who else do you know who has pieces of shrapnel stuck in their-" he pounded his chest for emphasis, but his hand hit only solid flesh. Tony froze.

Before he could do anything, the sound of shouting echoed through the cavern. It came from outside the little iron door, and it sparked a deep dread in Tony. He knew exactly when this had happened before, and he knew what happened next.

Sure enough, Dr. Yinsen hefted an AK-47 that had been lying on a nearby workbench. "Whoever you are, and however you got here, it seems that you know who I am. Can you operate that iron suit?"

Stark nodded. Dr. Yinsen grinned, taking Tony's apparent physical transformation in stride. "Then at least one person is getting out of this godforsaken place alive. The suit will take a few minutes to become operational. I can buy you that much time, at least."

Then Dr. Yinsen ran off, slamming the door behind him. Tony only had time to yell after him, then the doctor was gone… for the second time.

Tony yelled in outrage and confusion. Things were happening too fast… what was going on? But if this was like before, the only way for him to survive was to activate the Ironman suit and fight his way out. Then he would be rescued in the desert by Colonel Rhodey, just like before. But Dr. Yinsen was still going to die.

As Tony walked over to the suit, he felt a deep anger welling up inside of him. It was seeing Dr. Yinsen again that brought it up, and being helpless to keep him from sacrificing himself once again. As the fury washed through him, Tony began to feel strange. There was a coursing through his veins, and then a feeling of heat that quickly escalated to actual pain.

Just as the pain became a shooting agony, Tony drew close enough to see his reflection in the rusted metal of the iron suit. It was not the face of Tony Stark, internationally renowned inventor that looked back at him. It was the face of Bruce Banner.

_Oh… oh dear._

That was Tony's last recognizable thought as the transformation began, his muscles swelling and his skin taking on a greenish hue. His mind was pulled under by the wave of rage sweeping through him.

Outside in the corridors, the terrorists approaching Dr. Yinsen heard a terrifying roar. It shook the ground beneath their feet and turned their legs to jelly. They stopped in their tracks, too afraid to take another step.

Dr. Yinsen had a vague impression of something large and green running by him, and then he was pushed aside almost carefully by a giant hand. He screwed his eyes shut, praying to get out of this in one piece. The terrorists began praying as well, calling to Allah to deliver them, but from the sound of their ensuing screams and the earth-shattering roars of the Hulk, it didn't seem like their prayers were being answered.

oOoOo

Bruce felt a rush like an electric shock, and then found himself somewhere completely different from Eric Selvig's laboratory. He was in a bedroom, lying on a bed. He was also completely naked. Bruce pulled the soft red blanket up around his chest, desperate for some sense of security. What the hell had happened?

He always lost his clothes after the… _other guy_ came out, but Bruce could have sworn that he was in control when Thor disappeared! He was much better able to control his ability, and even if he didn't remember what happened while he was transformed, he always remembered what led up to it. This time there was nothing – only the Tesseract seeming to explode, and then… _here_. Wherever _here _was.

There was a creaking sound, and Bruce looked up to see the door to an attached bathroom swing open. He clutched the blanket tighter around his body, senses on alert and ready for a threat.

The door opened fully, revealing a gorgeous red-headed woman wearing… well, practically nothing. She had slinky black lingerie with little frills, and she posed in the doorway with a provocative smile.

"Uh," Bruce stammered, "who are you?"

She gave him a confused look. "What? What are you talking about, Tony? You know who I am."

Now Bruce was very confused. "_Tony? _But my name is Bruce… Bruce Banner."

"That scientist who turns into a green monster?" the woman asked, looking as confused as Bruce felt. "The one they call the Hulk?" Then her face lit up with comprehension, and she looked at Bruce with wicked speculation. "Tony, I wouldn't have expected this from you… are you trying to role play right now?"

Bruce could only stutter, the words driven right out of his head by the drop-dead gorgeous woman now advancing towards the bed, her hips swaying provocatively with every step. "Let's see," the woman mused, tossing her hair to one side, "who should I be instead of Pepper Potts? I could be a librarian, but I've left my glasses in the other room."

It was the name _Pepper Potts_ that finally made everything click into place for Bruce. He remembered Captain Rogers once asking Tony if he had a girlfriend, and Tony replied that he was in love with a woman named Pepper Potts. It wasn't the kind of name you forgot easily, and Bruce doubted there could be two women with that name.

Wait… Pepper had called him _Tony!_ Bruce looked down at his hands and arms. They were subtly different from his own, a little hairier and less muscular. His hand shot to his face, where he encountered a prickly and all-too-familiar moustache and goatee. Bruce let out a terrified _eep_ and bolted from the bed, remembering at the last second to grab a pillow with which to cover his manhood.

He ran past Ms. Potts, who was watching him now as if he had truly gone bonkers, a possibility which Bruce wasn't willing to rule out just yet. Bruce slid into the bathroom and risked a look into the mirror. It was Tony Stark's face that greeted him, for once without its perpetually smug expression. Bruce couldn't help it – he screamed like a girl.

"Tony," Pepper said with exasperation, "or Bruce, or whoever you want to be… this is a little strange. Are you ok?"

Bruce walked back into the bedroom, clutching the pillow with a death grip. "I'm, um…" he said, thunderstruck. "I'm fine…"

He wasn't even sure what nonsense his mouth was spouting while his mind tried feverishly to understand what was happening. Was this the Tesseract's doing? What else could possibly have resulted in him inhabiting Tony Stark's body?

Pepper went to sit on the bed, patting it suggestively. "Then if you're all right," she said, arching one eyebrow, "come back to bed."

The increasing pressure against his pillow reminded Bruce that it had been a long, long time since he had been with a woman. Since he had been _alone_ with a woman, for that matter. His… _condition_… made anything beyond flirting extremely risky, to put it mildly. But here was Pepper, and she clearly had no clue that he wasn't Tony Stark…

No! What was he thinking? Bruce would have hit himself in the head, but he had to keep a tight hold on his pillow. How could he even _think _about that? Tony was his teammate, for heaven's sake!

_Well, _said a sly little voice in Bruce's head, _Tony does kind of have it coming. Did he or didn't he trap you in an outhouse for eight hours while flying from India to New Mexico? Really, it'd be nothing more than he deserves…_

Bruce squashed that voice as firmly as he could. Teammates did _not_ sleep with each others' girlfriends! Bruce had principles, damn it, and he wasn't going to abandon them even if Tony Stark was a colossal prick and his girlfriend was a goddess in human form.

"Shit, Pepper," Bruce said, inwardly cursing at himself for having morals, "I can't do this right now. I, um… have a headache?" he finished lamely. He was going to have to figure out what was going on and fix it quick – but first, he would need to find some clothes. The pillow wasn't going to last much longer.

Bruce walked out of the bedroom into the living room, searching for Tony's clothes. Pepper's disbelieving snort followed him out.

Bruce couldn't help but sigh with regret. _Damn you, Stark! _He shouted inwardly. _You owe me big for this!_


	4. Red in My Ledger

**A/N: **This chapter is a long time in coming, and it's more setup than anything. I hope to update soon, and I'll focus on Thor's efforts to improve his relationship with little Loki. Things to look forward to: tomboy Sif, adorable Loki, and Thor's first experience reading Freud.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Marvel's The Avengers. Go bow down before Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon

**Chapter 4: Red in My Ledger**

Agent Romanov missed the good old days. Back when the Russians were the bad guys, S.H.I.E.L.D. was the baddest team in town, and Natasha's only worry was where she was going to conceal her handgun in her newest evening gown. Those days were gone.

It had started when Commander Fury tasked her with protecting Tony Stark, the egomaniac whose IQ was a few points too high for his own good. The shootout between Tony Stark and the Hammer Drones built by Ivan Vanko could easily have destroyed thousands of civilians, and that was only the beginning.

Before Natasha knew it, you couldn't throw a stone without hitting aliens, god-like beings from legend, or impossibly good-looking men from the past (Captain Rogers might not be her type, but _damn_ the man could fill out a uniform). No matter what new horrors threatened the world with each coming day, Natasha had simply rolled up her metaphorical sleeves and went to work. A trained agent adapts, always – more often than not, it meant the difference between life and death.

But one thing Natasha hated above everything else was feeling out of control. Perhaps it was a remnant of her youth, when men whose souls were stained with the blood of children had stripped away all of her barriers, one after another, so that they could remake her into the perfect espionage machine. They had scooped out everything that was _her_, Natasha Romanov, and filled her with blood, death, and unquestioning obedience. No matter how skilled she became, she was powerless against her trainers – most times, she couldn't even _think_ of disobeying orders without triggering a conditioned response that left her trembling and covered in vomit.

After S.H.I.E.L.D. broke her conditioning, Natasha cherished her hard-won control over her body and her emotions. Finally, she was the one who decided where to go, whom to kill, or which orders to follow. Even when the world was falling to pieces around her, Natasha could always count on her wits and her gun. Not even the Chitauri had been able to take that away from her.

But now, hurtling at high speeds through absolute darkness, Natasha was utterly helpless. She couldn't outthink the Tesseract – she didn't even know if it _had_ thoughts. She couldn't shoot it, although with each passing moment the idea became more tempting.

"_Now, now,_" a voice echoed in her head. "_That's not very nice. I'm giving you a chance most people would die for. No need to thank me._"

_Is that… the Tesseract? _Natasha thought, astonished.

"_Correct!_" the voice boomed, brimming with laughter. "_You humans – and Asgardians too, I suppose – have been treating me like a playtoy for so long I thought I'd return the favor and have some fun of my own. Don't worry about your comrades, by the way; they're fine, although whether they remain so is entirely up to them._"

"What are you doing to us?" Natasha demanded, the sound of her own voice a slight comfort in this endless rushing darkness.

"_You want me to spoil all the fun?_" the Tesseract demanded, and for a moment it reminded Natasha just a little of Tony Stark. "_Figure out the rules as you go along, just like everybody else. I will say that I've got something special in store for you. You're a particularly complex woman, Agent Romanov._"

"I'll… take that as a compliment, I suppose."

"_Not entirely, my dear. You've worn a mask for so long, I don't think even _you_ know what's underneath it anymore. The control you've fought so hard for is a trap, if only you could see it. The only cipher you can't crack is your own heart. I'm going to force you out of your comfort zone, Natasha. Maybe, just maybe, you'll figure out who you are, and what you want._"

"I'm Natasha Romanov, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Natasha snapped, "and what I _want_ is for you to bring me and my team back from wherever you've sent us!"

The Tesseract didn't bother to respond to this.

"_You once said that you have red in your ledger, and you want the chance to wipe it out. So be it – I'll give you that chance. But be careful… a clean slate always comes with strings attached._"

Natasha opened her mouth, preparing to give the Tesseract a piece of her mind, when her body jerked suddenly and violently to the side, as if an invisible hook had snatched her away.

"_One more thing,_" came the Tesseract's smug voice, growing ever fainter. "_You won't remember this conversation once you arrive. One of those strings we talked about… clean slate, you know. Safe travels!_"

Natasha had time for one heartfelt and colorful curse before she collided full speed with an unseen obstacle. Her head whipped forward, meeting something solid with a _crack_ and a sharp pain. She knew no more.

oOoOo

"Agent."

Natasha controlled her panic, wondering where she was. The last second the Tesseract had drawn them in, and now she was somewhere else entirely.

"Natalia." That voice again, insistent and strange, yet familiar. Perhaps because the man was speaking in Russian.

Natasha opened her eyes and came face to face with a man from her worst nightmares. Ivan Petrovich, the man who saved her life only to sentence her to hell. Mere days after rescuing her from the fire that had left Natasha an orphan, Ivan had brought her to a secret facility dedicated to training the next generation of Soviet superspies. He had been her handler and later her commanding officer, overseeing every step of her training until she had defected to S.H.I.E.L.D. with Clint Barton's help.

Here was Ivan, exactly as Natasha remembered him. The lined, craggy face with eyes that saw too much. The thick mustache that would have looked silly on any other man, yet only gave Ivan a touch of menace. Cold and hard, like a forged piece of steel. He sat behind his old desk in the cramped office where he had used to give Natasha missions, wearing the same look of exasperated impatience that he always had when Natasha performed below expectations.

It was every bit as horrifying as her nightmares – worse, because no dream could ever have been so vivid. Time had worn away the roughest edges from Natasha's memory, but now she could have been back in her old life, before S.H.I.E.L.D., before everything, almost as if… oh.

If the Tesseract could transport an army through space, it wasn't much of a stretch to believe it could send her back in time. Natasha looked around rapidly, hoping to see the Avengers beside her. Thor, Captain America… hell, she'd even be happy to see Stark. Anything to keep her from being alone with this man. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, sweat beginning to make her palms clammy.

"Natalia," Ivan said again, now beginning to sound angry. "Look at me."

Against her will, Natasha met his eyes. She had forgotten how much she hated the sound of her old name.

"I have another mission for you," her former commander said, watching her sharply. "Unless this odd behavior means you're not feeling up to it."

That was a trap. The old Natasha had no feelings, no weaknesses. She followed orders, no matter what. If Natasha wanted to get out of here and rendezvous with S.H.I.E.L.D., she would need to follow the script. She just hoped she could remember it.

Natasha exerted her will, clearing her face of all emotion. "Of course not. What is the mission, sir?"

"A foreign dignitary had an acute attack of appendicitis last week, and is currently convalescing in a hospital just outside of Kiev. It's an old building, not quite up to fire code. If it were to, let's say, burn to the ground, no one would think it anything other than a tragic accident. Can you make that happen?"

Natasha froze. This was _the_ mission. The one that had pushed her past the breaking point, shocking her beyond the limits of her conditioning. Only a few days after setting the fire that had killed over a hundred innocent men, women, and children, Natasha had learned that S.H.I.E.L.D. was sending an operative to kill her.

That was when Natasha had first met Clint Barton. She had meant to die that day. Left herself open for the killing shot, and hoped that he would take it. But he made a different call, and Natasha's life had changed.

How could the Tesseract have possibly known so much about her? And why would it choose to send her here, to this moment? It was insane.

But Ivan Petrovich had asked her a question, and he didn't like waiting for answers. Natasha raised her chin, and with a spurt of controlled horror she remembered what she had said the first time around.

"Consider it done."

Ivan nodded, satisfied. "Good. You have forty-eight hours. Report back when the job's done."

Natasha saluted and turned to leave, but she found her feet rooted to the floor. She knew she should go. It was the smart thing to do. She needed to get out of this building, leave Russia, and debrief with Commander Fury. If all of the other Avengers had been sent back with her, then Clint Barton would be back at S.H.I.E.L.D. He would vouch for her, even if the Commander didn't know they had been sent back in time.

But Ivan would still be here. He would send another operative to finish the job, destroying the hospital and carrying out countless more atrocities that S.H.I.E.L.D. had linked to Petrovich over the years. He had never been brought to justice in the future, never been foolish enough to leave himself vulnerable.

Natasha had no choice. It wasn't a question of the smart thing to do. No matter why she had been brought here, no matter what it might do to the future, fate had brought her once again in front of Ivan Petrovich. And only one of them would leave this office alive.

Natasha took a step and purposefully stumbled, swiftly palming the small knife she kept tucked in her right boot. Swift as a viper, she spun and threw, aiming for Ivan's neck.

He was also quick, however, and though his eyes registered utter surprise, he raised the clipboard on his desk in time to block the knife. It sank to the hilt into the thin wood.

"Natalia!" he shouted, outraged.

She was already in motion, sprinting to the desk with two quick steps and vaulting forward into a front handspring. She pushed off of the desk with her hands, bringing her feet around quickly and locking her knees around Ivan's head as she spun through the air. As she completed her rotation she tried to twist, which would have broken Ivan's neck cleanly.

But he moved with her, his powerful arms breaking her stranglehold before she could complete the technique. He threw her away with a roar, and she hit the far wall. Natasha fought the sudden onset of agony and rolled away, narrowly missing the chair he sent flying after her.

She charged at the desk once again, a plan appearing as she saw the open space, about four feet by four feet, in the center of the desk, which left room for the user's feet.

Ivan threw a stack of papers at her in an attempt to obscure her vision, but Natasha threw herself forward, feet-first, underneath the desk. She slid beneath it and landed a sharp kick against Ivan's right ankle. He cursed and staggered, one arm falling low enough for Natasha to grab. She pulled down hard, and Ivan's earlier momentum made it impossible for him to pull back. His head hit his desk with a solid _clunk_, drawing a shout of pain.

Natasha kept pulling, clenching her stomach muscles to power her legs up and around, swinging herself up above the desk while she let go of Ivan's arm. She landed feet-first on the desk, grabbed Ivan's head with both hands and slammed him against the desk once again. She heard the crack as his nose broke, but she hadn't pushed with enough force to drive the bones into his brain. A second later she was behind him, trapping his arm in an advanced grip meant to immobilize a heavier opponent. The slightest pressure and his arm would break. It was most likely overkill, as the last blow had left him too dazed to see straight, his nose streaming blood and his eyes rapidly filling with tears.

"Natalia…" Ivan croaked, "have you gone mad?"

"My name," she whispered, years of suffering welling up and causing her voice to crack, "is Natasha."

There was a pen still lying on the desk, the only thing that hadn't fallen to the floor during the short, vicious struggle. It was a nice pen, black with gold highlights, and Natasha remembered Ivan signing her orders with it many times in the past. She reached for it with her free hand, noting with grim satisfaction that the cap had already been removed.

"This can't possibly make up for the things I've done," Natasha said, feeling suddenly detached and calm. "But it's a start." A quick strike, and it was over. Ivan twitched once, then fell still.

She left the body slumped over the desk, walking out without a backwards look.

oOoOo

Four days later, Natasha waited in the square in Moscow where, a lifetime ago, she had first met Clint Barton.

Natasha had worked with Clint for years. She knew his habits better than her own, and after so many years in the field they understood the way the other thought. If he had been transported to the past with her, then he would remember the way they first met. It was quicker to go to the same place, and hope that he would do the same thing. Without Clint, Natasha would have a much harder time reuniting with S.H.I.E.L.D. and figuring out her next step.

So here she was in Moscow, waiting for her partner and torn between hating the Tesseract for sending her back in time, and loving it for giving her the opportunity to put at least one of the skeletons in her closet to rest.

She looked around the square, hardly able to suppress a nostalgic smile. Last time she had been here she was prepared to embrace death, unable to live with the horror she had become. One might almost say that she had been born again right here, on this very street, when Clint had decided not to send an arrow through her heart. It really was a very pretty street, Natasha decided. Cleaner than most of Moscow, and filled with the delicious scent of roasted meats and vegetables wafting from the stalls along the street.

Natasha was seized by a sudden, unaccountable desire to buy food from one of the vendors. Maybe when Clint showed up, they could take a moment for dinner. It had been a very long time since Natasha had eaten food in her home city.

The first time, Clint had been hiding in one of the buildings lining the way, camped out in a third-floor apartment. While Natasha waited for Clint to arrive, she amused herself by scanning the buildings, trying to figure out which one it had been. Her heart almost stopped when she saw sunlight glinting off of something metallic, and a familiar profile staring directly at her.

She barely had time to open her mouth before the arrow left the bow. Her legs folded under her, and she felt the breeze overhead as the arrow missed her by centimeters.

"Damn it, Clint!" she yelled, startling the passersby, most of whom hadn't noticed the arrow streaking through the air. "That's not funny!"

If that wasn't funny, the half-dozen street vendors that pulled assault rifles from behind their stalls and trained them on her weren't funny, either. The street cleared in seconds – at this stage in Russian history, citizens knew when to make themselves scarce.

"Hold your fire," Natasha screamed, raising her hands above her head. What in the hell was Clint doing? "Let me talk to Agent Barton!"

The agent in question was rappelling down the building with a rope attached to the windowsill. He approached Natasha at a fast pace, staring at her as if she was a particularly complex puzzle. "Stand down, men," he said, waving at the fake street vendors to come closer and lower their guns.

That would have made Natasha feel better, if it weren't for the fact that Clint still held his bow at full draw, ready to loose.

"Natalia Shostakova, also known as the Black Widow," Clint said as he approached. "I'm supposed to kill you. But now I'm curious… how did you know my name?"

"Are you kidding me?" Natasha demanded, her heart sinking. "You don't remember me? The Avengers? The Tesseract?"

"I'm beginning to think you might have a good shot at an insanity plea," Clint replied carefully, watching her as if she was a scorpion about to strike, "except for the fact that you're not getting a trial. Do you have any last words?"

_Damn_. That was Natasha's plan all blown to hell. Either this wasn't the same Clint from her own timeline, or else the Tesseract had brought him back and then wiped his memories of the future. Either way, Natasha was going to have to think quickly if she didn't want an arrow in her gut.

What had convinced Clint not to kill her in the first timeline? Natasha remembered – Clint had said it was her eyes. What did he say all those years ago? "I saw myself in you. I had to give you the chance that I was given, or I couldn't live with myself."

Well, it seemed like Natasha had missed that opportunity. Clint was looking into her eyes right now, and there wasn't a whole lot of mercy in his rugged face. Perhaps the savage satisfaction of getting revenge on Ivan had dimmed some of the self-loathing that had once been the core of Natasha's identity.

Anticipate, adapt, survive. There was no time for pondering what had been, or what should be. It was time to play a new hand.

"You shouldn't kill me," she declared, lifting her chin defiantly. "Commander Fury will want to know what I know."

His blue eyes were cold and hard, little flecks of diamond set in chiseled stone. "And what do you know?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security protocols, for one," she said. "And weaknesses in your intelligence network that my former organization was planning to exploit in the near future."

"_Former_ organization?"

Natasha watched Clint's eyebrows raise ever so slightly, and suddenly she was struck with a playful urge. "I also know that you sleep with an arrow under your pillow," she said slyly, "and that your favorite band is Earth, Wind, and Fire. Sometimes you listen to a record with their greatest hits after getting back from a mission."

If Clint had been surprised before, he was dumbstruck now. Natasha smirked at him, shaping her disappointment at the situation into iron-hard resolve. If Clint didn't remember her, then she was going to make him remember. She was not going to go through this again without her ally and best friend at her side. She refused.

"I'm defecting," she declared, holding her hands out in front of her. "Call Commander Fury. Tell him I'm coming in from the cold."


End file.
